


The Dirty Picture

by Ziggy_Played_Guitar



Series: Picture [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Anal Sex, BAMF John, Bottom Sherlock, Cheating, Cock Tease, Cockblocking, Crying, Dirty Pictures, Dirty Talk, Dom John, Emotional, Jealousy, Large Cock, Like Very NSFW, Like only read alone NSFW GIFs, M/M, Masturbation, Name-Calling, Nipple Play, Pet Names, Pictures and GIFS included, Pining, Public Sex, Rough Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Self-Hatred, Sexual Fantasy, Sexual Tension, Teenlock, Unilock, Virgin Sherlock, nsfw gifs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-09
Updated: 2016-01-23
Packaged: 2018-03-11 09:16:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 19,404
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3322031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ziggy_Played_Guitar/pseuds/Ziggy_Played_Guitar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>We won the match. Join me? –JW </i>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>  <i>An attachment of a photo of John that Sherlock has dreamt and wished to see for nearly five months now. It’s an image of John in the bath – naked – his legs sprawled naturally and relaxed, the hair on his legs dark from the water and his nipples hard from the contrast of cold air and warm water. His six-pack is glistening with water and his chest is dusted with very light blonde hair that has yet to become dark from the water.</i></p><p> </p><p>  <b>I don't own any of the pictures or GIFs used! Credit goes to those they belong to, you have amazing *cough* bodies!</b></p><p> </p><p>  <b> Graphic GIFs used! </b></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part One

**Author's Note:**

> This is something that just kind of...happened and the first JohnLock fic I've decided to post so far. The GIFs is something I wanted to try out and will be present in the upcoming chapter. Enjoy!
> 
> Any mistakes are mine: no Beta.

 

** The Dirty Picture (Part One)**

Sherlock has always minded his own business throughout school. Never creating friends or doing after school activities, he's has never gotten into anything school related. He outright refused to attend the after-school chess club when the head teacher tried to get him to join up in his first year of secondary school and after their numerous attempts of joining him up for science club and chess club, they backed off. Leaving Sherlock alone to do his own things, teachers even stopped asking him questions in class and people stopped attempting to talk to him.

 

The jeers and name-calling from the school rugby team is the only time someone bothered him.

 

They always make fun of his head of wild dark curls, unique features and lanky form. Always jeering when he changes into his school P.E. kit and calling him names such as _queer, freak_ and _faggot._ The words hurt the most. But he doesn't let it show. Sherlock ignores them or spits out a nasty deduction such as their mother cheating on their dad with the old man next-door or their ejaculation time is only a minute. No one has ever praised his deductions before. It’s only been Lestrade who hasn’t shown any disgust by them or name-called him, only a quick shrug and a ‘whatever’.

 

All until the new boy – John Watson – joined the school in sixth form when his parents decided to move down from Scotland and back to England. He was, in all matters of the words, _gorgeous_. With his short but lean and muscular body, pale golden hair that flops into his eyes when he’s furiously scribbling down, kind – almost pretty – smile that seems to always be naturally on his face and the darkest lapis-lazuli blue eyes that Sherlock has had the privilege of seeing.

 

Sherlock was instantly smitten.

 

John had started a fire of desire burning in his abdomen and mind that had Sherlock wanking furiously every night and mornings. Actually being the first person Sherlock has ever felt any sexual attraction or attraction to in general. Although there was the slight phase when he was in his early teens when he had the biggest crush ever on Bradley Cooper but that was quickly dismissed and forgotten about in his mind palace.   

 

Of course John had joined the school rugby team straight away. Joining into the ranks of the idiotic and only ever glancing at Sherlock when they all laughed at him. Although what got Sherlock’s attention even more was that John never seemed to laugh at him or sneer, there was always a soft look in his eyes that made Sherlock think the blonde wants to help, maybe he doesn’t know how or thinks it isn't his place to stop it. But that could all be in Sherlock’s John-infested mind.

 

Sherlock is thankful that now he’s in sixth form he no longer has to put up with P.E. and therefore he won’t disgust John with his terribly thin body, not that he’s out to impress John in any way whatsoever. A level Chemistry and Maths are the only subjects that Sherlock has with John but he knows by asking for a second copy of John’s timetable that his only other subjects is P.E., in which he trains with his other rugby players, and English.

 

They sit on the same table during Chemistry, a hairs width away from each other. Sherlock savers every moment of that class. Holding his breath when John speaks or blushing when their arms accidentally knock together. John even attempted to talk to him the first week he was here but Sherlock stayed true to himself by ignoring the blonde even if his stomach was filled with ‘beautifies’ and his mind palace was screaming at himself to answer the teen. John eventually stopped and turned to the people across from him, getting into easy conversation and, furthermore, an easy friendship. Jealousy always twists in his gut when he sees John talking to anyone, the curly-haired teen knows that he has no right to feel this way. He ruined his chance at friendship with John and therefore has no right to be jealous of people having something he does not.

 

A voice in the back of his mind was always muttering to him that John would have left him anyway when he found out about his _freaky ability._ And Sherlock also knew in his gut that that was true.

 

Although that idea was wiped out of his mind palace when John uttered that ‘ _amazing’_ and ‘ _quite extraordinary’_ when Sherlock snapped at the rugby team for making him drop his books. The words made him freeze and look up at the blonde on his place on the floor in utter shock, not sure if he heard him right. He ignored the calls of his rugby mates to follow them, to get away from the ‘freak’, and kneeled down next to him to help collect his books. A soft grin was on his face all the way through the exchange as Sherlock stayed frozen, trying to proceed what just happened.

 

The next day in Chemistry Sherlock was more than eager to start awkward conversation with John. Wanting to see if his deductions were correct and what he missed. John replied if not a bit put-off at the start but soon joining in just as eager as Sherlock. The dark-haired teen even going as far as thinking of John as his only _friend_ by the end of the lesson and made the request for John to join him at one of the crime scenes he sneaks into. With a ‘oh god yes’ from John, the two of them are joint at the hip for the next four months leading to Christmas.

 

Sherlock keeps his feelings buried though, not wanting to ruin his friendship with John. When the feelings became too much (for example when John bites his lip when he hides a smirk, throws his head back when he laughs at one of Sherlock’s deductions or simply smiles at the other teen) Sherlock just repeats in his head that _John is straight._ And from the number of dates and girls John has been through over the four months they’ve known each other is horrendous, Sherlock is sometimes itching to call John a _man-slut_ because of the numerous amounts. Even considering appointing John into a sex-addict clinic. Mycroft refused to help.

 

Sherlock always feels a stab of jealous every time he sees John with a girl but he tampers it down and continues as if nothing happened, as if his feelings towards John are only platonic. Although it is hard to ignore when he has a raging erection due to the image of his friend sweaty and topless after rugby.

 

But if John notices he doesn’t say anything.

 

John’s current girlfriend has been the longest he’s ever had. Sarah Sawyer is the cause of the distraction. Pulling _his_ John away from the cases and away from Sherlock himself. More than a couple of times Sherlock has trashed their dates or interrupted a sexual act and yet she is still here, unlike all the others in the past. Sherlock has a sudden horrific thought that this may be the girl that John settles down with, has a life with, marries and has little humans with.

 

The person he forgets Sherlock with.

 

So Sherlock has tried for the last week before the Christmas break to get John to leave Sarah or vice versa.

 

It has not been very successful so far.

 

The teen has three days before school breaks up and in them three days he wants Sarah out of the picture, for good. None of the on and off stuff they’ve been doing for the last month. Forgotten about and John back with him. The lack of cases this month has not helped Sherlock at all. Plan number one was to use a case to split them up but  with none coming up, it's left him hopelessly trying to get John’s attention away from her through other means such as cluedo or something even duller like homework.

 

The next day, the last Wednesday before school broke up, Sherlock had numerous plans to get rid of Sarah ranging from doing her head in all day and making John choose between Sherlock and her (because Sherlock is positive that he’d pick him) and ending at killing her. But his main focus is at the end of the break up, John does not hate him.

 

“Hey, Sherlock!” John shouts, jogging over to him as Sherlock’s walking to Maths, “I have a match tonight, the lads want to know if you’re coming to watch, they love you ripping the shit out of the other team.” That was another bonus of being friends with John. The rugby team has seemed to stop with their picking and left him alone, even going as far as asking him to do his ‘guessing trick’ – which he does not _guess_ – to help them win games. Sherlock thinks that John had a huge influence in their change of behaviour but Sherlock will never ask, not wanting to say something wrong and start it all up again and Sherlock is more than relieved that they’ve stopped.

 

“John,” Sherlock answers if not a little breathless as he watches John’s chest rapidly rise and fall beneath his thin black t-shirt and his arms bulge against the material, “I can’t. Mummy wants me home early.” Sherlock lies easily, actually meaning: _I can’t because I’m trying to get you to split up with your girlfriend so all your attention is back on me._

“The lads are going to be gutted. This match is one of the hardest. It'll win us a pass to the final.” John grins, looking up at his friend beneath a thick layer of golden lashes, making Sherlock blush and turn away. Praying that John doesn’t see anything odd with his behaviour, the wet dream from last night with John on his knees with his seed dripping down his face is too embedded in his mind for him to push it away or delete. 

 

“I’m sure _Sarah_ can join you.” Sherlock spits out, the door to the maths room coming into sight. John sends him a pointed look before looking away to dodge one of the younger students who's rushing to class.

 

“The lads don’t like Sarah, I don’t think she’s very welcome.”

 

Now _that_ catches Sherlock’s attention and adds another twenty-nine ideas to the teens head in ways he can get rid of Sarah and still have John happy with him. He can’t hold back the twitch of his lips as they shape into a tiny, happy smile, “Why is that?” Maybe his voice does sound a bit too overjoyed as John turns around to snap at him but stops himself when they enter the classroom.

 

The next three hours of school is left with Sherlock smiling to himself as he’s filled with over-powering joy that the rugby team - John’s best mates - prefer him freaky, skinny, queer Sherlock, over the obviously beautiful, charming and nice Sarah. It doesn’t seem to fit right in his mind palace but he forces it in anyway.

 

Later that night, still muddling over John’s confession, Sherlock staring up at his ceiling, grinning to himself as he ignores his mother singing to herself in the kitchen below, his father listening to a book audio and Mycroft trying and failing to play the guitar. His mind is buzzing with John’s voice, his face, his smell…his touch. It was doing all the right things in making a burning sensation start in Sherlock’s abdomen. Making him moan at the sensation of his tight boxers rubbing against his hardening penis.

 

Making sure his door is locked and that everyone in the house is too preoccupied with their own activates to hear him, he kicks off his ratty blue pyjama bottoms and leaves them bunched up on the floor before climbing onto his bed and lying on his back, his mind never going off John. Rubbing his half-hard cock underneath his black boxers, he doesn’t slip off his light green sweater but just rolls up his sleeves before lying back down and closing his eyes so his mind palace shows a clear image of the blonde in his rugby shorts showing off his muscular toned legs, tight rugby shirt sticking to him with sweat and his face beaming up at him; red and dripping. His whole body dirty with mud.   

 

Biting his lip to hold back a moan as he squeezes at his balls through the material and rolls his hips up to meet air, whimpering from the lack of friction. Running his other hand that isn’t massaging his bollocks over his covered chest, he skims his fingertips over his sensitive nipples that are poking up through the material and up towards his neck. With the gentlest of touches, his fingernail on his index finger scrapes on the curve of his neck making him shiver into his covers. The image of John stroking his neck as he lies next to him invades his mind palace and makes a horrifyingly loud gasp escape through his bow-shaped lips.

 

Moving his hand up over his lips so they’re caressing them softly, he sticks his index and middle finger into his mouth, sucking on them violently and making them wet and moist. All the while imagining its John’s long, thick cock inside his mouth as he twists and licks and gags around his violinist fingers. His hand that’s fondling his balls move to graze his inner thigh, making his breath come short and his hips thrust upwards. The glazing touches has made his cock fully hard and dripping with pre-cum as it pulses, looking for any kind of friction or attention. Not needing much to get himself going after years of not feeling any sexual tension before John.

 

Just as he removes his spit covered fingers from his mouth and is about to move his underwear down his thighs to release his dripping cock, his phone vibrates from an incoming message and mummy’s footsteps echo from just outside his door. Moving his hand away from caressing his inner thigh, one of the places where he’s most sensitive, he grabs for his phone just as a soft knock comes from the door. His erection is uncomfortable tucked away in his boxers still.  

 

“Sherlock, sweetie, would you like some supper? I just made some apple crumble for you, I know it’s your favourite.” His mother coos through the door, “Oh, wait! That’s John’s favourite, isn’t it? Well, you can bring some to him tomorrow, I’m sure it’ll keep. Just come down when you want some, but be quick otherwise your brother will eat it all. We all know what your brother is like with sweet things.”

 

The sound of John’s name being mentioned makes him turn his head and bite his pillow next to him to stop the wave of lust that settles into every nerve of his body. Clenching the phone in his hand as he sees a message from the blonde light up on his phone, he hears his mummy squeal from the other side of the door.

 

“Oh Sherlock dear! I’m so sorry for interrupting!” Mummy gushes, Sherlock can hear her taking a step away from the door, “Remember to use lubrication, sweetie, you don’t want any blisters so I put some baby oil in your bedside draw the other day.” A moment of silence as Sherlock turns onto his front to grind against the covers of his bed, to do anything to get rid of the painful _throbbing_ building up between his thighs, not even caring if his mother hears the muttered _John_ escape from his lips. Too far into his own desire to give a damn, “I’ll leave you be, sweetheart.”

 

Shallow and softly thrusting into his bed covers, he turns his attention to the message from John. Not at all expecting what he sees as it stills his movements altogether and makes his whole body shiver and buzz in uncontrollable _need._ The message: **We won the match. Join me? –JW** has an attachment of a photo of John that Sherlock has dreamt and wished to see for nearly five months now. It’s an image of John in the bath – naked – his legs sprawled naturally and relaxed, the hair on his legs dark from the water and his nipples hard from the contrast of cold air and warm water. His six-pack is glistening with water and his chest is dusted with very light blonde hair that has yet to become dark from the water. Only one arm is in the picture and his elbow is rested lightly on the edge of the bath, showing the bulge of his bicep and the broad length of his shoulders.

 

 

Sherlock notes that John has an outie belly-button. Something Sherlock finds oddly cute and erotic at the same time as he turns his attention to the only covered part of the photo: the bubbles covering John’s cock and Sherlock deduces from John’s goose bump legs, erect nipples and the large amount of bubbles John has used to cover it that his cock is erect. John’s face is also not in the picture, which Sherlock notices with a flicker of disappointment before shock finally settles into his system that John has just send him a _nude._ John of all people! The guy whose made Sherlock suffer intense erections for five months, whose Sherlock’s best friend, whose Sherlock’s first crush, whose captain of the rugby team, who has a long-term girlfriend of a month, whose straight, whose obviously not interested in Sherlock of all people, whose everyone’s fantasy man, whose the most popular guy in school, whose had more girlfriends than Sherlock’s done experiments.

 

John who is also the nicest guy at school, who puts up with Sherlock because he likes him, who gave Sherlock a chance, who welcomes Sherlock for being himself, who _likes_ being with the drama-queen, who enjoys his company, who helps him on cases, who always has friendly advice, who tells him when he’s being socially unacceptable, who isn’t afraid of his deductions, who thinks of his deductions as a gift, who thinks of him as a genius, who no matter how many girlfriends he’s had, always comes back to Sherlock.

 

John who Sherlock is hopelessly, irrevocably, obsessively in love with.  

 

Not even thinking that the photo might be sent accidentally to him and was meant for John’s girlfriend, whose name has complete left Sherlock’s mind, Sherlock turns onto his side, strips off his sweater, and gets the camera ready on his phone. Making sure his body is twisted slightly, showing off his slender figure, too-thin legs and hairless body. He doesn’t care that his erection is now only half-hard due to the sudden shock and looking smaller than it normally does and that his boxers look baggy at this angle or that his body resembles a young boy, all he cares about is that he shows John just how much he likes _him._   

 

 

Just as Sherlock sends the image another text from John comes through:

 

**Oh shit! Sherlock I am so sorry! That was meant for Sarah! Do not look at that last text! –JW**

A sudden rush of panic fills Sherlock as he attempts to delete his own dirty picture he sent. Humiliation burning at his cheeks and making his bottom lip tremble from just the _thought_ of John leaving him. Cursing foully at his phone as he sits up straight and throws the phone at the door, the sound of Mycroft abruptly stopping his guitar playing only just registers into Sherlock’s ears as he curls up in a ball on the white sheets.

 

_How could he be so stupid? Thinking for just a fleeting second that John would want him? That the image was meant for him? John is straight for god’s sake! Of course he wouldn’t be interested in the likes of you. Even if he was interested in men, he would not turn to someone like you. Someone who looks as if they need a decent meal inside of them, who has never came across a body hair on their chest before, who is just a stupid little boy in love._

The voice is Sherlock’s mind palace continues and screams at him with verbal abuse. Making the teen curl even more up in his bed-covers. His phone lays silent on the floor, the back cover of the phone a meter away from the actual phone. The teen waits for the dreaded reply from John, or even having no reply at all. His lip starts to bleed from biting it as time passes and his body erupts with goose bumps from the winter air, he can’t be bothered to move though. He’d much prefer to lie here and freeze to death then head to school tomorrow to face John.

 

His mind comes up blank with excuses he can use for sending the picture. And he dreads the fact that John will ignore him, pretend that he doesn’t exist like most people at school do. But something at the back of Sherlock’s mind is giving him hope. That John is _nice_ if not rude at times, but John would do as Sherlock wishes. If Sherlock wants to forget that it ever happened, so would John. John is his friend and John looks after that friendship, he wouldn’t waste that one thing on something as stupid as a picture.

 

To John that picture could have meant anything. It could have just been the two of them comparing each other’s bodies or Sherlock conducting an experiment.    

 

Sighing in relief that there was a way he could explain it to John, his phone pings from the floor a full sixteen minutes and thirty-eight seconds since he sent the picture. Uncurling himself from his place on the bed, he stumbles over to the phone as it lights up with another message from John. His heart throbbing in his chest, his palms sweating and his mind protesting and complaining about his _emotional_ reaction to just a bloody _text._

Chastising himself as he flops back onto the bed, he wills his mind to be silent as he opens up the message. Almost choking on his own spit at the image John has sent back to him. John’s on all fours - nude - his arse raised up in the air as if waiting for someone to come up behind him. The picture is taken at the front, John’s head down and showing the back of his head as he crouches and lifts up his arse into the air. It shows the curve of John’s muscular back and the dramatic dip as it goes to his presented arse. The light from his bedside lamp doesn’t help in making John’s hair look darker but it does show-off his small waist and the dips and corners of his muscles and his broad shoulders.

 

 

It makes Sherlock moan at the image as the sight of John’s golden globes stain themselves as the wallpaper all around Sherlock’s mind palace. Scrambling up and knocking his hardening cock in the process, he ignores the voice in his head telling him that this may be John just showing-off his body (and – _god_ – what a body it is) and that it would ruin their relationship and that John has a _girlfriend._ He bats all the arguments and side-effects out of his mind and just forces it on one thing: John.

 

His heart hasn’t stopped thumping rapidly since the message came up. The buzz through his body and the light feeling in his chest is making him strangely uncomfortable as the lust starts forming in his abdomen again. The words: _John wants me_ are the only words making any sense in his mind as he stands up and gets his phone ready to take a photo. Pulling down his boxers so they reveal his pale arse but still covers his crotch, one hand stays holding the boxers down as the other one takes the photo. His body is turned to show-off his own arse and the backs of his skinny legs. His back is curved in to show off the dip and his arse more. Much like what John was doing, presenting himself to the camera. Sherlock quickly makes the photo black and white, not liking the way that his arse has acne scars on. He wants to be just perfect for John.

 

 

Sending the picture with baited breath, his achingly hard cock is making a wet-patch of pre-come appear on his boxers. Stripping off his last item of clothing, he hisses at the feeling of the cold air on his reddening cock and balls. Not bothering to go back to the bed, needing to get rid of the painful desire running through his veins as quickly as possible, he gets both pictures of John on his phone before tugging harshly on his left nipple and bring the other hand down to pull at his bollocks.

 

Running his thumb gently over his scrotum, a whimpered _John_ falls from his lips as he twists at his nipple violently. His skin is alert and burning with want as he looks down at John’s presented arse up in the air; smooth, tanned, hairless and highlighted perfectly from the light. It’s all round, perky and just utterly perfect…utterly John. Running his hand that’s messing with his nipple down and over his scrawny stomach, making him shiver from the sensitivity and throw his head back in pleasure, a much louder groan of the blonde’s name coming from his mouth.

 

“Oh fuck. Oh yes. _John._ ”

 

His phone pings again with another image and Sherlock can’t scramble to open it fast enough as his left hand stays pulling, pinching and squeezing his testicles. The next image is more of John’s six-pack. The lighting is daytime so it must have been taken another day as Sherlock looks over it. A stab of jealously goes through his gut at the thought of John sending these images to someone else, of John presenting his arse and cock to someone that isn’t him. Shaking away those thoughts and turns his attention back to the task at hand, he looks back at the image and at the perfectly defined six-pack looking back at him. It makes Sherlock’s mouth water with _need._ A need to lick and memorise them abs. The photo stops just at the base of John’s cock, showing the start of his crotch but not the place where Sherlock _begs_ to see. It shows a line of blonde hair leading up from his crotch and ends at his belly-button, a shade darker than the hair on his head. His whole body is tanned and fit. And his nipples are rosy and pleading to be teased, bitten and ravished.

 

 

Placing the phone on the bed and standing over it, he turns it back to the previous image of John’s golden rear. He dashes over to the bedside table to grab the bottle of baby oil and drizzles it over his length, not caring that most of the liquid tips onto his freshly laid sheets. Rubbing it into his shaft and over the top of his thighs, bollocks and stomach before running both hands lightly over his glands and down to the base of his cock before letting his right hand – his most dominant – take control and grips his cock tightly whilst the other hand runs lightly up and down his sensitive stomach.

 

 

His eyes not leaving the picture in front of him as he roughly moves his fist up and down his cock, he imagines John is actually in front of him. Arse up in the air and eagerly ready to be eaten out and then shoved in to. Although vice versa also sounds like a brilliant idea in Sherlock’s mind, “Oh, fuck, yes! Give it to me, John! So big!” Sherlock shouts to himself, now with one hand braced on the bed and his body bent forward, he thrusts into his fist and places his knees on the edge of the bed.

 

His arm turning weak from the oncoming lust, he drops his forehead onto the bed and shoves three fingers into his mouth. Wanting it to be John’s cock furiously pounding into his mouth, using him as his personal sex-toy. Moaning around his fingers as his fist around his cock twists sharply and slows before he pulls his foreskin forward to collect the pre-cum and then pulls the skin back, watching as the liquid drips slowly onto the bed. Another strong twinge of desire runs up his spine and makes his thighs shake.

 

He grips the base of his shaft just as his orgasm is about to approach, making him remove his fingers from his mouth and cling to the bed covers so it scrunches into his fist. His blurry eyes landing back onto the pictures of John, he thrusts gently into his loose fist as his orgasm backs down. Sweat is forming on his forehead and making his curls stick to his head and the sheet clings to his knees but it doesn’t bother him in the slightest.

 

Moving his hand off his orgasm-denied cock, his pulls his balls forward and grunts when he releases them and they slap against his bare arse, making his prick bounce from the force. He repeats it until his balls are stinking from the pain. The fire in his veins is now almost unbearable as he takes his shaft back in hand and makes his grip almost _painful_ but he loves every single minutes of the pain mixed in with pleasure.

 

“John. John. _John._ ” He chants as he rubs his thumb over the glistening head.

 

The force of his thrusting has resulted in the headboard of his bed to slam against the room with a deafening strike and the bottle of baby oil on his bedside table to tip over and soak most of his bed. His fist has also gone sorely dry. Spitting into his other hand, his quickly spreads it across his length before returning to his violence strokes, muttering John’s name louder with each stroke.

 

“Fuck me, John, please. Right there, yes. Yes. Yes!” He moans into the covers, “That’s it. Fucking use me. Fucking make me yours. Oh fuck. O-Oh yes! Yes, harder, John, harder!” He bites into the covers in an effort to quieten his commands and grunts but his orgasm is slowly coming around and the sudden need to be loud is overpowering, “John. Perfect. Mine. Harder. Brilliant. God, yes. I love yo-”

 

He comes with a thunderous moan, teeth biting into his lower lips to try and quieten it.

 

The after-shock leaves his cock sensitive as he slowly runs a fist down it to ooze out the come that’s splashed onto his chest and over to the other side of the king-sex bed: _impressive_ is the word that rings through his mind at the sight of the liquid so far away. Fighting off the shivers as he rolls onto his back and leaves his sore, over-sensitive prick alone, he dreamily sighs John’s name before curling up into the semen, oil and sweat covered sheets and falling asleep.

 

John, as always, in his dream and on his mind.     


	2. Part Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I do. I do. I do.” Sherlock chants, leaning forward so he mutters it against John’s flushed lips. John eagerly turns the words into a moan as he pulls the teen into a kiss. Brutal, passionate, wanting… It’s just like all of Sherlock’s fantasies, he’s pleased with himself that he doesn’t come right there and then when Johns tongue invades pass his bow-shaped lips and explores his mouth.
> 
>  
> 
> He tastes likes orange juice, with a slight mix of mint toothpaste and grass but it doesn’t affect Sherlock in the slightest as he eagerly returns the kiss. John’s hot tongue licks confidently at Sherlock’s own tongue, making the younger teen gasp and break away from the kiss, the feeling different from what he expected. John raises a blonde eyebrow at him, inches from his face before ducking and reattaching his lips with Sherlock’s.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry for the wait! I had exams, then moved house and now decorating and the time just slipped by. The final chapter has been started and I will try to get it complete quicker than this one. 
> 
> Bare with me and enjoy!

** The Dirty Picture (Part Two)  **

Sherlock can’t stop the nerves.

 

His hands shake as he buttons up his purple dress shirt and black trousers, his fears coming to light as he watches his phone with sharp eyes. Waiting for John to call or text him, like he does every morning. After getting changed and pushing away his mother when she hands him a packed lunch and shoves a banana in his hand. She has a knowing look in her icy-blue eyes that grates at Sherlock as he slams the front door shut and starts his ten minute walk to school.

                                                                                                                                                                               

But not before he sees his ruined bed sheets flung inside the washing machine ready to be cleaned and his mother grinning down at the machine with a strange look of pride on her face.

 

Running his hands through his hair and shaking his hair so the curls become even wilder, he continues on his way and keeps his head down as other students walk beside him, many from the secondary school connected to the sixth form he’s in. His phone still remains silent and untouched in his pocket, the third picture John sent him as his new wallpaper.

 

His eyes scan for John in the group of his rugby mates, coming up blank. Feeling a twang of relief mixed with disappointment, he heads straight into his first class of Physics, one of the classes he has without John. Rubbing the tips of his fingers on his temples, he ignores the stares of his classmates as the new physics teacher attempts to ask him a question and ignorantly answers before taking out his phone and checking the blank screen in front of him.

 

Huffing, a sudden itch for a cigarette claws at his skin but he ignores it. Knowing that John would not be pleased with him after the blonde managed to stop the teen smoking two weeks into their blooming friendship. Not listening to a word the teacher speaks, his thumb traces the outline of John’s abs on his wallpaper picture. The need for it to be actually John is almost overpowering as he bites his lip and places the phone roughly onto the table.

 

He refuses to look at it again throughout the lesson.

 

As the bell rings for break, he’s the first to leave. Barging past other students and out into the cloudy field at the back of the sixth form. Breathing in the fresh air, he leans against a nearby tree and taps his fingers along the screen of his phone in his Belstaff pocket. He observes the other students playing football and talking in groups, all happy and laughing to each other. Looking at them makes him sick, makes him want to vomit all over his dress shoes.

 

Sherlock’s eyes catch and land on a head of golden hair in the crowd.

 

The thumping in his chest is terribly loud and his hands shake as they tighten into fists by his side. John is smiling sweetly at Sarah, his smile spread wide over his rosy cheeks and his blonde fringe limp into his eyes. Sarah’s hand is tightly gripping onto his, looking at him with clear devotion on her face, her reddish brown hair pulled into a tight ponytail and showing off a fresh love-bite on her lower neck. Sherlock deduces that the love-bite is only a night or two old, making Sherlock breathe uneven and his gut to squeeze uncomfortable.

 

Closing his eyes and pushing away the sudden painful jab, his hand tightens around the phone as it squeaks in protest and his eyes burns with unshed tears at being played so well by _John_. Just as the teen is about to turn away and get far, _far_ away from the blonde, he turns around to meet Sherlock’s glaze from across the playground. Sarah doesn’t see it and Sherlock practically grins childishly as John slowly licks his lips whilst his eyes are on Sherlock, a predatory look in his sapphire-blue eyes and he sends the lanky teen a _filthy_ smirk and a quick impish wink before turning back to where his girlfriend is trying to earn his attention.      

 

Sherlock chest squeezes in response to his friends attention, not caring that Sarah pulls John into a loving yet dominating kiss in front of him and that John’s eyes are open and latched onto him throughout it. His breath catches as he turns away to will his pulsing hard-on away and to get rid of the jealous gut-wrenching feeling that’s in every fibre of his body, caused by the fact John is still with _her_ when he’s so clearly wanting Sherlock. Every deduction and lingering look is now proving Sherlock with the clear evidence that John wants him, for real or play the teen doesn’t know.

 

It fills the teen with such hateful rage that he doesn’t know if John is leading Sherlock on or Sarah. If the heated looks John’s giving him are because of the thrill/adrenaline of cheating and Sherlock is the easiest and weakest target to take a grab at or if John is actually interested in _him_.

 

The thoughts don’t stop running through his mind palace and it makes him dizzy as he realises the bell has rang minutes ago and that the outside of the building is now eerily empty. Shaking his head, he heads around towards the canteen where he can have a moment to collect himself by deducing his fellow students and away from John who will be training on the field with his red shorts and bloody _knee-length_ socks _._

 

Sitting down in a quiet corner, away from the babbling teens on the other side, he sorts out his muddled and lively mind palace so it’s peaceful again. Everything John related back into the room and locked tight as he re-gains his delicious senses, feeling like himself for the first time in a _long_ time. Everything that happened over night and in the past months coming clear as he re-calls the flirty meal in Angelo’s they had that first night together where Sherlock so stupidly denied John.

 

John has been interested in Sherlock since they met but Sherlock’s violent rebuttal had sent John scattering away from anything romantic with Sherlock.

 

But what if this is John’s revenge? A way of getting back at him for saying no?

 

Sherlock hisses into his hands as something grips his heart painfully, making it hard to breath and for the teen to think straight again. His mind is screaming at him that this is true, that this is John’s revenge and with his new clear head the evidence is clearer than anything. Closing his eyes and ignoring the sudden dread in his stomach, he re-sorts his mind palace for the second time in half an hour and re-opens his eyes to start deducing the other people, needing something, _anything_ to get his mind off his blonde friend.

 

Looking over each person that enters and exits the canteen, so many minutes later he finds out that the school’s English teacher is having an affair with a boy from Sherlock’s classes, a girl got dumped last night, more than ten are suffering from hangovers, another girl has a crush on her best-friend and a couple has just had intercourse in the school’s kitchens. And his mind has been blissfully away from John.

 

Looking over at the nearby clock, he sees that it’s been nearly two hours since he sat down and thought through what he was going to do.

 

His revolution: confront John.  

 

Grabbing up his belonging, he’s about to walk out of the canteen and in search of John when his phone vibrates in his pocket. Making the teen’s heart speed up and his palms sweaty as he rushes to grab his phone out of his pocket, his gangly elbow hitting someone in the face as he’s swamped by little people.

 

**Changing rooms. –JW**

Sneering down at the flashing screen, he hates the fact that it feels like John is calling for him…like an obedient dog. Raising his nose in the air, he stomps down the corridors towards the changing rooms where John is. Not bothering to knock as he enters the empty changing rooms, he flings his bag onto the tiled floor and cringes as the smell of stale sweat. John isn’t in sight, nobody is. The slow dripping of a stopped shower and the shouting of a sports teacher outside are the only sounds that reach Sherlock’s ears.

 

Shoving his hands into his trouser pockets, he turns around on the spot. Deducing that the rugby players have only left four minutes and eighteen seconds ago, the same time John text him. Biting on his lower lip, he’s about to sit down onto the bench in the middle of the room but soft footsteps on the tiles leading from the showers makes him turn on the spot a full one-hundred and eighty degrees.

 

John strolls through, hair dark from his shower and dripping down his face and neck. His skin is still damp, making his black short-sleeved tee stick to him and show off his six-pack through the material. His tanned legs are showing. Short joggers showing the blond haired, muscular thighs and the bulge of his prick.

 

Sherlock swallows back the spit pooling in his mouth.

 

“You came.” John says, a cocky smirk playing on his lips even though Sherlock notes the flicker of surprise in his doe-eyes.

 

“Please, you know I hate it when you point out the obvious.” Sherlock replies in a bored tone, trying to show that the whole situation isn’t making Sherlock a nervous and needy little boy. John laughs and shakes his head, looking up at Sherlock through his lashes as he sits down on the bench, shorts rising a tad bit more to show off his thick, fit thighs.

 

A moment of silence passes between the two. A silence unlike any other. Full of sexual tension, unasked questions and held back confessions. Sherlock’s twitches, ready to speak up and his tongue is ready to spell out the words but it becomes stuck somewhere on its passage, making him close his mouth again and move his eyes away from the waiting blonde. John seems unaffected. Sitting casually on the bench as if nothing is out of the ordinary. As if they’re getting ready to watch a marathon of James Bond.

 

It frustrates Sherlock to the core. Makes his teeth grind together and the vein in his head pulse vigorously. Squinting his eyes at the blonde, he just looks up like an innocent nun whose just found out the powers of sex or a young boy whose just watched his first hardcore anal porn video.

 

“Why?!” Sherlock hisses, two minutes and seven seconds of silence later.

 

“Sorry?”

 

“Why me? You could have chosen anyone! Victor bloody Trevor, Sebastian Moran or James fucking Moriarty! They’re all gay so why pick me – your best friend – to play tricks on?” Sherlock takes a steady breath before continuing, “You could have accidentally sent that nude to someone else, anyone else, and they would have played along. Ok, so maybe my feelings for you were obviously passed platonic but you…you could have ignored them, played with someone else. Because…Because I don’t have the emotional strength to play games, John…not with you.”

 

Throughout the speech he seems to have gone through hundreds of different emotions but John just looks up at him like a deer caught in the headlights, he does not move, not even when Sherlock continues again.

 

“I swear to god, John, if you have played me at all, I will not want to see you again. Ever. Not your stupid ocean blue eyes or yellow hair or your ridiculous six-pack or your idiotic smile. Nothing, John. God, I hate you. I really do.” He breathes, not being able to stop himself from continuing, “You play people so well. You played the great Sherlock Holmes, well done! Go back to your bloody boring girlfriend! The innocent, perfect school boy but inside you’re an addict to adrenaline, a firework ready to explode at any given chance. You’re rough, harsh, rude, ignorant, brutal…”

 

He trails off, losing his fight as he sees John moving ever so slightly during his rant. Looking down at the blonde, his sudden fight leaves him as he sees the blonde stroking his fully erect cock through the thin material of his tracksuit shorts. Sherlock gulps at the pure _size_ of it. A sudden itch to take it all down his dainty throat and fucking _gag_ on it comes to light.

 

“Has anyone ever told you before that you’re bloody sexy when you’re angry? Like- Bloody hell, it’s cute and then just pure hot.” He pauses for several moments, messing with a drop of pre-cum that’s dripping from the head, “God, you have no idea what you do to me, Sherlock Holmes. Every single fucking minute of every single fucking day! A constant hard-on. I just want to ram it down your throat, to see if you’ll beg for me. To see if you’re a needy little bitch, my little cocksucker.” He raises his shorts even more to reveal his long shaft and strokes down it with the material still wrapped around, hiding the base from the teen’s greedy eyes.

 

 

Sherlock whimpers as he sees the clear slit on the top of the cock, the hole drooling with pre-cum and the head fat and red. The thick vein is protruding and his foreskin retracted away from the head. John doesn’t stop rubbing himself at an excruciatingly slow pace. Sherlock’s eyes never leaving him as they travel up his toned chest and back to the wicked grin on the blonde’s face.

 

The sapphire blue eyes are nearly unrecognisable; black with a thin ring of the dark blue around it and his playful grin only intensifies as their eyes lands on one another. Sherlock shifts in his suit, feeling the rub of his erection on his freshly washed boxers. John must of saw Sherlock’s flash of lust in his eyes and heard the panting coming from his lips as he removes his hands from his joggers and leans back. Leaving his penis to bounce against his stomach and a drop of pre-cum to splash onto the grey material of the joggers.

 

Sherlock watches the bounce of his cock with great interest.

 

“Strip.” John commands, breaking through the hypnotic spell John’s moving cock seems to be having on him. The order goes straight to his own prick. Making the blood gush between his thighs so quickly that it makes him light headed. Shaking away the dizziness, he looks at his friend with a bewildered expression on his face before the command sinks in.

 

The curly haired teen doesn’t even blink as he strips his shirt, shoes and trousers off without much coordination or _sexiness._ It doesn’t occur to the younger teen that his movements aren’t exactly the most seductive when his fingers tease the elastic of his boxers. Biting on his lower lip, he looks up at John through the fringe of his wild hair. Expecting the revealed hard-on to be softening and John to be holding back a laugh, it surprises the genius that John’s expression is still animalistic with desire and his prick is still curved back and pulsing.

 

Sending the blonde a shy smile as their eyes meet, he sends an encouraging one back which gives Sherlock the courage to strip off his boxers and stand completely nude in front of someone – who isn’t mummy – for the first time. His mind is peacefully silent as well, he notes. Staring down at his feet so he doesn’t see the look of disgust on John’s face when he sees the acne scars on his arse or the bones protruding unhealthily out from his skin.

 

“ _Beautiful.”_ John whispers, resting most of his weight on his arms, making his biceps tense and flinch. Sherlock can’t hide the blush that spreads from his chest, up his neck and all the way into his hair-line at John’s whispered word and the soft whimper that escapes his lips. No one has ever used that word to compliment him, sure mummy calls him handsome but never, ever _beautiful._ Sherlock takes a clumsy step towards the blonde, desperate to touch the bare skin.

 

John quickly shreds his black t-shirt and strips off his joggers, standing bare in front of the equally naked Sherlock. Although Sherlock observes that John’s movements are much less uncoordinated and more elegant and controlled than the younger teens striping. _Probably because of the numerous times he’s done this before, with others that aren’t you._ Sherlock’s mind snaps at him but he pushes away the negative thoughts and puts all his concentration on the task at hand.

 

“You have no idea what I dream of doing to you, _Sherlock Holmes._ I’ve always fantasied about you on your back, on this very bench, stark naked. Me above you, my bollocks in your face. Your cock ignored but pulsing hard against your stomach and you looking up at me all guileless and naïve.” John steps towards the taller teen, looking up at him through thick, blonde lashes and biting gently at his lower lip. Stopping when he’s a hairs width away from Sherlock. The top of his head just coming up to Sherlock’s nose.

 

“ _John._ ” Sherlock answers, thighs trembling from the onslaught of want coursing through his veins.

 

John only answers with an impish grin.

 

“I’d let you lick my balls first. Tiny licks like a timid kitten. I’d moan and encourage you so your licks become more forceful, more aggressive. I’d spur you on when you’re aggressive, _love_. If anything your brutal behaviour would make me even harder, even _wetter._ I’d let you do as you wish to me. I’d let you take the lead as you grow more confident, but I’d soon take over. Making you _my personal sex-toy, my little virgin, my little cocksucker._ ” The whimper that now escapes Sherlock’s mouth is more like a plead as the image invades his mind palace. It’s everything Sherlock has imagined and more. He doesn’t care about the consequences but he’s going to take it with both hands anyway.

 

John reaches out to run a hand over Sherlock’s chest, feeling the rapid heartbeat through his chest and runs his nails over one of his nipples. Gasping, his eyelids flutter shut before snapping open when John’s gentle touches turn more painful. The blonde twists his left nipple in between his finger tips and pulls, rubbing the erect nub through the tips of his fingertips. Sherlock knows he should be crying out in pain, telling John to be gentler but all that tumbles out of his mouth is a breathless sob and his cock to twitch with the pain.

 

His knees hit the edge of the metal bench, making him gasp from the harsh cold before sitting down on the bench, ready to collapse. John doesn’t release his nipple from his grasp and only kneels in front of him. The blonde moves forward to nibble and lick at the other nipple that isn’t between his fingers. Sherlock buckles from the sensitivity and the warmth from John’s mouth, his eyes closing again as his right hand goes to hold John’s head in place just as he grips the nub between his teeth and pulls.

 

Sherlock’s hips search for friction of any kind as his prick throbs painfully. Pre-cum drips onto his stomach and thighs from where his cock lies, abandoned. John releases both his nipples and leans back to admire his work. Both nipples bright red and swollen from his work; the right one sports a fresh love-bite and the left one puffy and bruising. Both of them sharply erect.

 

“Tell me you want this, Sherlock. Tell me you want what I want to give you.” John says, breaking through Sherlock’s observation of his nipples and back at the blonde in front of him. John’s tone has lost the commanding, lustful edge and is now soft, almost shy as he looks up at the teen. His face doesn’t portray any of the softness. There is still a sharp, demanding look to him but his ocean blue eyes hold a familiar shine to them. It suddenly clicks with Sherlock that this is why John is so popular with women, his dominating nature and natural caring persona is what most look for in a man and for a sexual partner. Also adding in the fact that John has an _above_ average penis.

“I do. I do. I do.” Sherlock chants, leaning forward so he mutters it against John’s flushed lips. John eagerly turns the words into a moan as he pulls the teen into a kiss. Brutal, passionate, wanting… It’s just like all of Sherlock’s fantasies, he’s pleased with himself that he doesn’t come right there and then when Johns tongue invades pass his bow-shaped lips and explores his mouth.

 

He tastes likes orange juice, with a slight mix of mint toothpaste and grass but it doesn’t affect Sherlock in the slightest as he eagerly returns the kiss. John’s hot tongue licks confidently at Sherlock’s own tongue, making the younger teen gasp and break away from the kiss, the feeling different from what he expected. John raises a blonde eyebrow at him, inches from his face before ducking and reattaching his lips with Sherlock’s.

 

John wastes no time in lying Sherlock down onto the bench, not breaking the kiss, and straddling the curly-haired teen’s waist between his thick thighs. Sherlock slowly places his hands on the blonde’s hips, unsure about what to do with himself as he observes that John’s hands are busy combing and pulling at his hair. John’s erect cock is lying straight on his slender belly, Sherlock’s own cock rubbing against John’s tanned globes. Grunting into the kiss as John rocks sharply into Sherlock’s erection, the crack of John’s arse rubbing up and down his length.

 

Sherlock runs his hands down John’s thighs, mapping out the teen and securing the information in his mind palace for later examination. Shyly running a fingernail down John’s prick, the blonde hisses and breaks from the kiss to look down at his friend with kiss swollen lips and dilated eyes. Sherlock’s sure he looks just as flustered and wanting. John grins wickedly at him before gripping one of his swollen nipples and rearranging them so their cocks are aligned together.

 

The teen’s thighs tremble from the feel of their cocks so close together, of John’s hands wrapped tightly around his cock, of John’s attention solely on him. John leans forward to lick and suck at the nipple that isn’t supporting a current love-bite. Sherlock can do nothing but run his hands down John’s back and gasp up at the ceiling, completely powerless against John’s talent.

 

“Look at you. Gorgeous. Stunning. Beautiful. All mine for the taking.” John slurps, licking at Sherlock’s chest, up towards the crook of his neck. His warm hand’s slowly pumping them, making pre-cum drip from his cock and onto stomach. John’s fist is dry as he rubs their cocks together, making Sherlock utter a pained whimper before John quickly spits into his palm and onto their cocks to add lubricant, forgetting to bring Vaseline or any other lube substance.

 

Sherlock whimpers at the vile way John spits and covers their cocks with it, the horrid action making an animalistic urge to get his mouth pounded by John come to light. Moving his right hand to grip John’s head, running his elegant fingers through the short, blonde strands, John licks up his skinny belly. John grunts against his skin, making goose bumps appear and his toes curls into to the metal bench, “You’re so responsive, love. Do you like me touching you? My cock rubbing against yours?” John whispers against his skin, nibbling at his belly button before going lower to tease him. He quickly sucks and bites at his inner thigh, creating yet another love-bite before pulling away just as his hand – now only stroking Sherlock’s cock – brings him close to orgasm.

 

Sherlock whimpers as he pulls completely away. Only the glaze of John’s thigh on his reddened, sensitive cock as John gets up, a naughty twist to his lips, “I want to pound that loud mouth of yours. I want your spit to dribble off my cock and down your chin. I want you to look up at me with big, pleading eyes. God…” John grins, moving around so Sherlock’s head is at the end of the bench and John is hovering over him, balls dangling over Sherlock’s nose.

 

“Please, _John._ ”

 

John just looks at him for several moments, sapphire blue eyes on icy blue ones. Sherlock licks his waiting lips, sticking out a shy tongue to gently wipe at the wrinkled testicles hovering over his face. John smirks down at him, cock twitching in anticipation and fingers stroking Sherlock’s Adam-apple, a look of adoration glistening in his dark eyes. Sherlock lifts his chin up so his bow-shaped lips meet John’s creased sack.

 

A slow grunt from John makes Sherlock more eager to please him.

 

Lifting his whole head so he can take the testicle right into his mouth, John leans forward, and his hands braced on either side of Sherlock’s face. Sherlock happily laps at the bollocks, spit pooling in his mouth and slightly running his teeth over the delicate skin, making John bite his lip from above him. The spongy feel of the ball on his tongue makes Sherlock itch to fit both balls into his mouth but before he can move to fit the other one inside, John moves away from him with a deep shiver, a trail of spit dangling off his nuts and down Sherlock’s chin.

 

“Bloody buggering hell, Sherlock, if you keep doing that I won’t be able to come down your throat, love.” John breathes, looking down at the younger teen with dark blue eyes blown wide with arousal, “Such a talented tongue you have. You know just what to do to me to get me started. Every little lick, every little nip, every little touch. You’re such a talented boy, bloody amazing is what you are.”

 

Sherlock looks up at him with hooded eyes and lips open ready for him to do what he wants with him, Sherlock is completely under John’s control. John stroked his cheek lovingly, admiring the man beneath him just as the head of his cock enters the welcoming, swollen, used lips. Sherlock widens his mouth to fit John’s wide cock in his mouth, the taste of pre-cum heavy on his tongue.

 

“Oh such a good boy, take it for me.” John mutters to himself, pressing his hips gently deeper into his mouth. Sherlock moves himself deeper down the length, feeling confident that he can take John all at once but near halfway, Sherlock starts to struggle. Holding back a gag, spit pools into his mouth and start dripping down the side of his mouth as John continues to go deeper into his mouth, “Oh god, fuck yes. Bloody perfect. Take it all.”

 

Eager to please him, Sherlock quickly takes the rest of him down. Pausing for a moment to force down a gag and blink away the tears, Sherlock closes his throat around the cock, making John mutter a line of curse words under his breath. John pulls his cock out of Sherlock’s mouth all the way to the head, letting the teen catch his breath before quickly shoving his cock back into Sherlock’s wanting, warm throat.

 

John does as he promised then.

 

He uses Sherlock’s throat as his personal sex-toy.

 

 

Sherlock moans around the cock as John pumps in and out of his mouth, watching as Sherlock’s face reddens and his eyes water and his spit dribbles from his mouth. Sherlock chokes around John’s length, trying to catch his breath before John continues brutally using him. He loves every minute of it though, even more so when John’s tanned hand comes down to stroke at Sherlock’s forgotten – yet still painfully hard – dick.

 

John’s hips are moving swiftly as he gets close to his orgasm, moving quicker and harder and forgetting that Sherlock needs to breath. It doesn’t bother Sherlock though, he’s giving _John_ pleasure and John is giving him pleasure in return. Moreover, Sherlock likes this, likes being used and abused. Well, from his first experience of anything sexual, he likes being used and abused by _John._ Sherlock stores information away to later be examined to see if he really does like it.

 

John twists his wrist just right and speeds up his strokes, making Sherlock shiver into the bench and thrust his hips towards the ceiling. He moves his own head with John’s thrusts, making the head of John’s cock go deeper each time. 

 

Growing more confident, he moves his hand up to rub the base of John’s cock, the bit that John is too scared to fit into the dainty throat. Although there wasn’t much to rub, Sherlock makes do by using his thumb and index finger to rub John off. John’s thumb runs over the head of his cock, making Sherlock’s balls tighten sharply and John’s other hand gently caresses his swollen nipples…

 

Sherlock orgasms loudly, John’s dick falling out of his mouth as he gasps John’s name as his hips twists and his cock spills come across the changing rooms. John soothes him through his orgasm, watching him climax and his body jump from his sensitive cock afterwards. Just as quickly as his orgasm, he’s just as quickly putting John’s cock back in his mouth and bring the man he loves to his own orgasm.

 

John’s moaning and grunting above him, close to his own finish as one of Sherlock’s hands stroke the other half of John’s cock that isn’t in his mouth and his other hand is massaging John’s balls. They tighten in his grip just as John makes a slow moan and tightens his grip on Sherlock’s curls. Sherlock can feel his upcoming climax, his cock pulses and his come travels down Sherlock’s throat.

 

The door to the changing rooms opens the same time John grunts Sherlock’s name and marks him with his seed down his throat, making the teen gag but grin up at the blonde proudly before he feels the eyes on him. Turning his sweaty head towards the entrance, he breaks away from John’s grip and sits up straight, curls everywhere and a blush travelling up his chest towards his hairline as the person stares at them.

 

John turns towards the door, his eyes wide:

 

“ _Sarah…”_

 


	3. Part Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Oh, Sherlock.” He mutters, fingers tightening in the brunette’s locks, going soft against Sherlock’s hand, “I want you so much. Let me take you, my sweet boy. Let me take care of you and sort out your problem.” He continues, stroking Sherlock’s semi-hard cock over his jeans suggestively. Wanting, needing John to touch him, caress him, dominate him. He breaks away from the captain’s neck and presses his forehead against him, nodding his head; mouth open, panting and swollen from John’s lips.
> 
>  
> 
> “Take me.” He breathes, fingers trailing the outline of John’s toned stomach.

** The Dirty Picture (Part Three) **

 

Sherlock’s left, alone, in the cold damp changing room before he can blink. John chasing after Sarah who ran off with a harsh insult and tears in her eyes, John quickly pulls on his P.E. uniform and runs off after her. Leaving Sherlock naked on the freezing cold bench with dried come on his stomach and in his mouth. John’s touch still burns on his skin and his nipples and lips swollen. Not to mention that every muscle in his body is aching; up to his scalp and down to his feet, more importantly his throbbing throat is the worse.

 

Stiffly getting up after waiting for John to return for a good twenty minutes and hearing younger voices on the other side of the door, he picks up his own clothing and uses his underwear to take off the dried semen before throwing them in the nearby bin. Not looking at the bench where the mishap happened, he climbs into his clothes and leaves the changing rooms without a backwards glance. Tears stinging his eyes and a voice in his head telling him that he should wait in there, no matter who comes in.

 

It becomes clear to Sherlock that he’s nothing but a dirty little secret, a fantasy that came true, an experiment made possible, an adrenaline rush for the adrenaline junkie.

 

Not bothering with school for the rest of the day, he continues back down the road towards his house, wishing for an empty home when he returns. He can hear shouting as he walks past the field, near the tree he was hiding at earlier today, but he doesn’t look up to see who it is. His dark hair covering his face from view as he walks by and up the hill towards home, John’s muttered confessions and dirty whispers ringing in his ear.

 

Despite feeling as if he’s just a filthy fix, a tiny voice in the back of his mind is telling him that John’s confessions and whispers were true and that his actions and looks were genuine. After all, Sherlock had gained clear evidence beforehand that John had asked him out and is ‘into’ him. But all that evidence is overruled by John running off after Sarah and his own self-hatred. Nasty whispers run through his head all the way home; telling him that John would never go for someone like him, that John just wants to experiment with the same sex, that John isn’t gay, that Sherlock is too strange and weird to have someone as perfect and as handsome as John.

 

His father’s away when he final returns home, and there seems to be no sign of Mycroft or Mummy, which is unusual as Mycroft has studying to do and Mummy is often always inside tending the house. Father is always away during the day, working seven days a week and only returning just before dinner and leaving early in the morning. He thinks about his family’s daily routine, taking his mind off John, as he slowly makes his way upstairs towards his room. His freshly made sheets a calling comfort for him.

 

Quickly dressing out of his stiff school uniform, he throws it into a ball in the corner of the room before putting on his comfiest pair of jeans and a grey hoodie to stop the chill that’s seeping through every pore on his body.

 

Falling face first in his pillow, he curls up on the sheets; kicking his shoes off so not to anger Mummy when she sees muddy prints on the new sheets. His phone lays silent on the bedside table next to him as he crawls under the covers, pressing the tips of his fingers into his tear buds to try and stop the oncoming tears that threaten to spill down his cheeks.  He fills his mind with Chemistry and Math’s problems to get his mind off his brief happiness not even an hour ago. It works for a good ten minutes until his phone goes off beside him and the thoughts of John come tumbling back into his head, filling every single one of his senses.

 

Clumsily reaching out to grab his phone, hitting his wrist off the side of the bedside table in the process, his fingers type in the wrong passcode before it finally opens. His heart pounds in his chest as he rolls onto his front, legs flying everywhere as his eyes finally focus on the screen.

 

It’s from Lestrade.

 

The tears this time he can’t stop as he throws his phone onto the floor and curls up into a ball on his side, his back to the door and the covers over his head. His disappointment cuts deep as he cries into the sheets. _John chose her, not you._ The voice sniggers at him, making him curl up smaller and sob louder. Sherlock is in his mind palace so far and his cries are too loud to hear the sound of Mummy and Mycroft coming home. His mind is too busy laughing at his hope, listing off the obvious reasons why John wouldn’t pick him, listing off the reasons why he would choose Sarah and replaying the picture of them kissing each other and what happened with John.

 

It’s too much for him. The pressure on his brain is too much. He wants it to stop, he wants to forget John, forget love and lust and passion. The bully’s words repeat until he’s muttering them on his own lips. The fear deep in his gut is making him shake, the fear that the bullying will be back after the holidays when they realise that his friendship with John has gone, and that he got in the way of the school’s hot wannabe couple _. It wouldn’t be like last time_ , he told himself, fisting his hand into hair, trying to pull out the pressure and the _feelings._

_It’ll be worse!_

 

Whimpering into his arm, he starts to think up a plan that’ll get his parents to move. So he can start fresh at a different Sixth Form, with fresh bullies and annoyances. No Sarah. No Emotions. No Distractions. No Friends. No John. It would be the ri-

 

A knock at his bedroom door pulls him from his thoughts. Making him see the mess he’s put himself in with snot dripping out of his nose - making his arm sticky - his hair sticking to his forehead, his throat sore (from deep-throating John or crying he wasn’t sure), his eyes puffy and sore, his limbs stiff from staying still too long and his mind on overdrive; making him dizzy. A migraine starts

 

“Go Away!” He huffs, voice husky and still stuffed deep inside his covers.

 

“Sherlock?” John’s voice replies, startling the brunette as he sits up straight and draws in a shaky breath.

 

 _John is here?_ He thinks to himself before shaking that ridiculous thought out of his head. _Of course he isn’t, my mind is playing tricks on me._ It doesn’t stop him from staring at the door though, thinking up an argument that John might actually be on the other side of that door, waiting for an invitation in. He comes out from underneath the covers, sitting on the edge of the bed, watching the door with his silvery eyes.

 

No other sounds come from the other side. Not even the sound of him moving nervously on the other side, or him breathing loudly. Then again, Sherlock knows John and he knows that John is very rarely nervous so wouldn’t be moving much. But he ignores that thought. A quiet broken sob escapes his lips as he realises that a friend is all he will ever be to his dear Watson. What he has with Sarah will never be what they have. If he is here, and that’s a big if, then he would have come to apologise, to correct what he’s done.

 

Not to come in and claim Sherlock, roughly and brutally, across his new sparklingly white sheets.

 

Despite his distraught mood, his penis still seems to take an interest in the thought and twitches roughly against his tight jeans, aware that he has no underwear on. The rough texture of the jeans makes his hardening cock burn and hurt, but Sherlock knows – especially from earlier with John – that pain and pleasure is something he _loves_. A sound crossed between a moan and a sob escapes through his lips, making his throat hurt and for him to realise just how sore his eyes are when he blinks them shut.  

 

“Sherlock?” John’s voice calls again from the other side of the door, this time accompanied with a knock at the door, just as Sherlock gets up to head to his en-suite to clean up. Freezing halfway off the bed, his heart beats wildly as he realises that John is actually here, feet away from him. He’s come to _him._ Breathing deeply, he sits back gently onto bed to stop his limbs from shaking. His mind goes blank, no thoughts but that of John on the other side of the door.

 

Lifting his hand to his eye, he tries to wipe away the redness and the dried tears on his cheeks, wanting to look good for John. As if what happened didn’t affect him in the slightest, which he knows is useless to achieve. Even the unobservant Watson will take one look at him and tell that it affected him, deeply.

 

“Look, Sherlock, let me explain, please. I know you’re in there, open the door. Please, Sherlock.” John continues, Sherlock can hear his hand on the handle and can nearly hear the debate in his head whether he should open the door without permission or not. Sherlock doesn’t want to answer, he knows his voice will tremble or break and it’ll be a dead give-away. His pride wants John to leave, to never return but Sherlock knows John is stubborn; he’ll wait out there if he has to, even if Sherlock doesn’t want him.

 

“What is there to explain, John? You’ve picked, end of.” Sherlock answers after several moments, cursing himself for not being able to resist answering but surprised by the strength of his voice. It gives no indication he was crying his eyes out minutes ago.

 

“Picked? What do you mean?” John replies, clearly losing his patience as Sherlock sees the door handle turn slightly. Clearly, John’s manners that his mother drills into him coming to light. Sherlock has the sudden thought that he’d like John not to use manners, to use this house as his own. John’s voice breaks through his thoughts, “Sarah is nothing to me, Sherlock. A means to stop thinking about you, I thought I made that clear to you in the changing rooms…before?”

 

Sherlock huffs, losing his own patience at John’s clear stupidity that the brunette isn’t talking about sexually. He’s talking about everything.

 

“You don’t understand!” Sherlock shouts, clenching his fists into the covers.

 

“Then make me understand, Sherlock! I don’t know how clear I can make it to you that I want you; physically, mentally, anything. Together as one, Sarah forgotten about. Just us.” John says quickly, making it hard for Sherlock to understand everything but he gets the idea as he freezes, throat clogging up, “Sherlock?” John continues when he doesn’t reply, “Oh fuck this!” His mutters, for a split second making Sherlock fear that he’s leaving just before the bedroom door flings open.

 

John stands there with one of his hideous oatmeal jumpers on, paired with a new pair of black jeans. He’s shoes were off, as Mummy always ask guests to take their shoes off at the door, revealing a hole in one of his neon green socks, an old Christmas gift from Harry; Sherlock deduces. The deductions keep his mind busy as a silence drags on, making his haven uncomfortable and suffocating.

 

“Oh, Sherlock.” John mutters from across the room, stepping in and closing the heavy door behind him, his eyes not leaving Sherlock as the brunette finally looks up, “Oh, love. I am so sorry. If I had known, if I wasn’t so stupid, I would have stayed with you.” Sherlock notes that the little steps John are taking towards him are uncertain, as if he doesn’t know what to do with his emotional unstable friend. Sherlock hates the distance between them as he listens to John’s words, far too forgiving as he slowly stands up, stepping towards John until there’s only a footstep between them.

 

“Why? Why go after her if what you say is true? That-That you want me.” Sherlock says softly, looking down at John’s lapis lazuli eyes, watching as they flicker between Sherlock’s own eyes.

 

“For you.” He answers, lifting his tanned hands slowly to rest on Sherlock’s cheeks. Watching his friend with a sharp expression, ready to back away if the touch goes unwanted. Sherlock does nothing of the sort, his accepts the contact eagerly and presses into John’s touch; closing his eyes and practically purring into the palm of his hand.

 

“ _Me_?” 

 

“You like your privacy, Sherlock. I didn’t think you’d like the rumours going around that you’ve been getting down and dirty with the school’s Rugby captain or more vicious ones than that.” The blonde sighs, stepping closer to Sherlock so their toes touch, “And I wanted you to be respected. I know now when I think about it, what I did to you, wasn’t respectful. I shouldn’t have left. But right then I didn’t want Sarah going around, blabbing shit around. Making you come across as a dirty whore or something along those lines.”

 

Sherlock grins, eyes still closed, at the words. A comfort to the negative thoughts in his head, pushing them aside as his heart flutters loudly and butterflies begin in his stomach. No negative feeling or thought in the way, his mind peacefully blank. He has more questions for John, but pushes them aside. All that matters to him now is the burning desire starting in his abdomen. The urgency in his mind to understand more, ask more questions pushed aside by the fact that they have time – all the time in the world – for Sherlock to ask questions.

 

Right now though, Sherlock wants John.

 

Re-opening his eyes, he’s surprised that John’s so close. Inches away from their lips touching. The blonde looks up at him, eyes wide with adoration. Sherlock curses himself quickly for not realising it sooner, that John had always been his.

 

John opens his mouth, clearly wanting to explain more but Sherlock interrupts him with a lascivious smirk, “But I thought I was your personal sex-toy? Your little virgin? Your little cocksucker?” Sherlock mutters flirtatiously, leaning forward to gently rub his lips against John’s. Hearing the stuttered moan that comes from John as his hands glide off his cheeks and bury themselves into his curls.

 

“Let me explain, Sherlock.” He whispers against Sherlock’s cupid bow lips.

 

“Explain later, John. Right now all that matters is that you’re here, you’ve came back. So, please, for both our sakes; take me. Finish what you started.” Sherlock presses his lips firmly against John’s this time. Ravishing the taste of John; the slight taste of old orange juice, tea and mint. John doesn’t response at the start, making Sherlock pull back slightly. Blushing as he thinks he’s misread the signs, taking a step back from the Captain.

 

“But I left you, alone. That needs an explanation.” The blonde replies, wide-eyed.

 

“And you’ve gave one, John. A good enough one for me to forgive you, until I have further questions to ask to ease my troubles.” John closes his eyes, clearly having trouble processing the fact that the brunette has forgiven him for his mistake so quickly. Sherlock shakes his head of curls, sighing dramatically, “Are you planning on leaving now?”

 

John looks up shocked and somewhat hurt, but sees the hidden vulnerability behind the question as he steps forward and wraps his arms around Sherlock neck. Ignoring the fact that he has to stand on his tip-toes (ever so slightly) to reach and bury his fingers back into Sherlock’s curls, “No!” He declares delicately, brushing his lips against Sherlock’s cheek before kissing his still puffy eyes, one firm kiss on each one before doing it again just under the eye.

 

“Good.”

 

John takes that as all the permission he needs as he smashes his lips onto waiting ones. The moan of approval from the brunette is enough for John to deepen it even more. Opening his mouth to grant Sherlock’s tongue better access, letting Sherlock timidly take the time he needs to get the courage to stick his tongue into another’s mouth, even if that someone else is John.

 

John’s lips become urgent as Sherlock brings his hands up to grip the blonde’s waist, his fingers digging into John’s thick jumper. The material is fluffy under is fingers as he traces the outline of John’s six-pack underneath the material, wanting to strip him. His tongue finally finds itself into John’s warm mouth, exploring as John’s lips slow down and his tongue strokes against Sherlock’s. The feeling is oddly disgusting but arousing as Sherlock’s cock twitches uncomfortably against his jeans.

 

His long fingers finally find themselves climbing up his jumper, stroking the tanned fit skin underneath. His mouth watering with the itch to lick the shapes and curves of his muscle. Sherlock retreats from John’s mouth and kisses down his neck as his fingertips play with one of John’s nipples; pulling, twisting and rubbing gently, recalling what John did to his own nipples hours ago.

 

The blonde’s breath hot on the shell of Sherlock’s ear as a low moan vibrates through John’s body, making Sherlock twist his fingertips ever so slightly harder and suck on the crease between the shoulder and neck harder. Wanting to mark John just like John did him.

 

“Oh, Sherlock.” He mutters, fingers tightening in the brunette’s locks, going soft against Sherlock’s hand, “I want you so much. Let me take you, my sweet boy. Let me take care of you and sort out your problem.” He continues, stroking Sherlock’s semi-hard cock over his jeans suggestively. Wanting, _needing_ John to touch him, caress him, dominate him. He breaks away from the captain’s neck and presses his forehead against him, nodding his head; mouth open, panting and swollen from John’s lips.

 

“Take me.” He breathes, fingers trailing the outline of John’s toned stomach.

 

John’s lips are brutal against his, nipping at his lower lip. Pulling his curls tightly as he slowly backs Sherlock towards the waiting bed, making the brunette’s heart splutter in his chest and his mouth automatically open. John’s tongue wastes no time in invading his mouth, tongues battling each other for domination and ending up with Sherlock submitting to him.

 

In return, Sherlock grips the top of John’s jeans with one hand whilst the other lifts the jumper up. John breaks the kiss, pulling Sherlock’s bottom lip between his teeth as he breaks away; biting down hard onto it. Releasing his lip, the back of Sherlock’s knees hit the edge of the bed as John stays a foot away, the distance is horrid as Sherlock uses the grip he has on John’s jeans to pull him close. His fingertips gracefully gripping the edge of the white boxers peaking over the jeans as he pulls him so their bottom halves are touching.

John roughly grinds into Sherlock’s crotch as Sherlock’s grip lifts him slightly on balls of his feet so he can reach, their cocks aligned together, just material keeping them apart. The brunette stutters a moan at the friction, feeling John’s eyes reading his face and grinning with pride, “Strip me.” John commands, a shiver running through Sherlock’s spine as John steps into his dominate role. Sherlock knows now that John will take him. Just the way Sherlock wants to be taken for the first time; brutally, passionately and dominantly. His wildest fantasy coming true, his most secret fetish coming undone, his wettest dream becoming reality.

 

Panting heavily, his fingers awkwardly try and undo John’s belt as the blonde kisses down Sherlock’s long, lean neck. Breaking the geniuses concentration and making him pause in his actions, “If you keep stopping, my little virgin, you’ll have to wait longer for me to stretch you open.” He presses a firm kiss on Sherlock’s neck, “To enter you.” Another kiss, “To make you mine.” Another kiss, further down his neck, “To make you _cum_.” Another kiss at the crease, “To love you.” He licks up Sherlock’s neck, from the crease to his jaw, stopping to look Sherlock straight in the eyes; pupils blown and lust evident on every feature on his face; to the twitch of his eyebrow to the red tips of his ears.

 

“J-John.” He replies brokenly, undoing the belt and turning to the zip. The jeans fall down to pool around John’s sock covered feet with an easy pull, leaving John standing in just his white underwear and neon green socks – after John quickly removes his own Jumper impatiently – with his thick hard cock straining against the tight underwear. The outline of his cock is clear against the material, a small wet patch of pre-cum outlines the tip of prick as the chunky length looks ready to burst through the material, desperate to escape.

 

Sherlock eyes it warily, unsure if it’ll fit into him. Then again, he was able to fit it into his mouth and he knows John is a talented and experienced lover. Letting out a shaky breath, John strokes a finger over one of Sherlock’s sharp cheekbones. A silent comfort that he’ll take care of him, make sure it doesn’t hurt him and that if it does hurt; he’ll stop. Sherlock smiles softly up at him as he sits down on the edge of the bed, aware that his legs are about to give.

 

Sitting down brings him eye-level with John’s erection, making Sherlock’s cheeks burn and his throat clog up with the thought of letting John fuck his throat again. John smirks down at him, reading his face easily. Bring his tanned hand down onto himself, he strokes himself through the thin material, watching Sherlock’s face closely as the younger boy licks his lips and unconsciously parts his legs wider so John can step closer to him. “Such a pretty face.” John comments, stroking Sherlock’s face with his free hand, “It’s not possible that I deserve such a good boy.”

 

Sherlock hums back to him, only half concentrating on what his John’s saying. But the words make his confidence rise and a reply come to tongue. John places a thick finger over his lips, stopping him from speaking. Sherlock closes his mouth and re-directs his attention back to John’s hand stroking himself slowly. “Can I…taste you?” Sherlock asks shyly against John’s finger, looking up at John through his lashes. Catching the glimmer of softness that crosses his expression before the cockiness is back on.

 

“Feel free, my little cocksucker.” He replies, strokes Sherlock’ curls as Sherlock moves forward. The brunette runs his nose over the covered bulge, trying hard to hold down his beaming smile as he feels it twitch against him. Delighted that John desires him, that he can make John’s penis react to him so easily.

 

The blonde gasps loudly when Sherlock runs his tongue teasingly over the boxers, circling the tip before placing his lips over the cotton. John stutters a curse under his breath, gripping the dark curls painfully as he thrusts his covered cock into Sherlock’s mouth. Sherlock accidentally knocks his teeth against John’s cock before quickly recovering, ignoring that the taste of cotton. The feel of it rubbing against the inside of his mouth off-putting.

 

“Christ!” John shouts, before placing a hand over his mouth and looking down at his friend, wide-eyed, “Shit, I forgot about your parents! And Mycroft!”

 

“John!” Sherlock tuts, pulling away with a disgusted look on his face, his penis going soft, “Don’t mention them! The last thing I want to be thinking about whilst doing...this with you is Mycroft or my parents!” He sulks, glaring at the older boy, “Look!” He glares, pointing down to the fading bulge in his jeans, the wet patch from his pre-cum evident.

 

John laughs, before ducking down and planting a soft kiss on the brunettes rosy lips, “I’m sorry. I’m just worried they’ll think I’m murdering you or something.”

 

“Tremendously ambitious of you, John.” He rolls his eyes, giggling lightly before pulling him down onto the bed on top of him. Eager to get going again, uncaring if they hear them. He secretly wants them to know that John is his and vice versa.

 

John moves to lie next to him on his side, one arm keeping his head up whilst the other teases Sherlock’s top up. Drawing shapes onto the showing skin, making Sherlock blush and hide his face behind his curls and the covers, “Don’t hide from me, Sherlock. I want to see every expression cross your face, everything you feel. There’s no need to hide from me, love.” John says slowly and softly, pulling Sherlock’s face up.

 

The brunette stays silent, watching the blonde carefully. Ready to see the lie even though every fibre of his being is telling him that John wouldn’t lie to him, not when they’re like this. Half-hard and begging for each other. Well, John is very much as hard as he was minutes ago, making the younger boy smile and quickly take off his top.

 

“I’m taking that as a sign you want to continue?” John grins, moving his hand all over Sherlock’s bare skin. Making his skin tingle as if he’s just had popping candy. He absently plays with one of the brunette’s nipples as his sapphire eyes never leave Sherlock’s silvery ones.

 

“Well you seem to never have wanted to stop.” Sherlock flirts back, confidently reaching out and running a finger over the head, “It’s as if the idea of my parents and my brother finding out doesn’t bother you.” Gently pecking John’s smile before continuing, “Or if the idea of them walking in on us turns you on?” Sherlock grins, running a hand down John’s cheek, over one of his swollen nipples and over his six-pack to slowly tease the white boxers off. Needing John’s pulsing cock in his hand, no barriers to stop Sherlock from feeling his John’s bare skin.

 

“Or maybe I fancy your brother?” John speaks, lifting his hips off the bed to help Sherlock take off the boxers. Sherlock stops though, snapping his eyes back up to John’s, pausing. He can see John’s playful grin, the spark of mischief in his lustful eyes but it doesn’t stop Sherlock from asking the stupid question of ‘do you?’. Knowing full well that John doesn’t, but to satisfy the curling possessiveness growing in the gut of his stomach.

 

“Wouldn’t you like to know, my love.” John winks, planting a reassuring kiss on the brunette’s cheek before bending his leg up to strip off his hole-ridden socks and to take his boxers off. Kicking them off so they land near the door, before turning back to Sherlock who’s watching the bouncing cock with intense interest; the recent teasing forgotten about as blinding desire fills his every pore. His cock hardens quickly, making him light headed from the sudden rush of blood.

 

He lies down fully onto the bed, trying to calm his racing head as John’s blonde head pops up above him. One of his arms hold him up next to Sherlock’s face, the other hand is exploring Sherlock’s body; effortlessly undoing his belt. One of John’s legs are in-between Sherlock’s, making his knee rest next to his crotch, adding the barest of friction. His other leg is holding him up, halfway straddling the brunette.

 

The anticipation is making the younger boy’s cock drip frantically with pre-cum and his nipples to harden as one of his hands stroke John’s thigh that’s holding him up. Aware that John’s reddening cock is erect and ever so close to his body. John looks down at him, asking him if it’s alright for him to proceed, to slip his hands into his Sherlock’s jeans and grip his cock. 

 

The brunette nods eagerly, making a sound that’s halfway between a squeak and a moan but John’s humoured and wanton look is enough for Sherlock to ignore the embarrassing noise. He lifts a trembling hand up to rub his thumb against John’s cheek, the curling possessiveness still laced in his stomach, “You’re mine.” Sherlock whispers, wanting it to sound fierce and protective but coming out as a question. John bites his lip shyly, looking down the brunette with a blush staining his cheeks, knowing full well what Sherlock means.

 

“I always have been.”

 

Sherlock doesn’t break eye contact from the blonde, wanting to memorise his deep blue eyes, flushed lips and red cheeks. John looks away, watching his hand travel into Sherlock’s jeans and grip onto the quivering length. Sherlock throws his head back at the contact, closing his eyes at the sensation of John’s warm hand gripping the base of his throbbing cock.

His hand falls from John’s face and clenches itself into the sheets, relaxing into the pleasure. He doesn’t even notice that John is sitting back onto his knees until he feels John’s hand leave his cock – much to his disappointed as he feels the slow burning sensation of a much needed climax approaching – and begins to strip his jeans and socks off. Sherlock bends his neck, looking down at the blonde with hooded eyes.

 

Watching as the blonde grabs his hips and moves John more onto the centre of the bed so he can crawl in-between Sherlock’s legs. His breathing goes weak at the sight. John smiles up at him through the fringe of his hair, before crawling up to him and kissing him softly on the lips. Their cocks touch. Lightly skimming each other as he stretches to reach the genius’s lips. The smile stays on the blonde’s lips as he kisses Sherlock, his happiness noticeable as Sherlock grins up; the blush never leaving.

 

“ _Sherlock_.” John whispers, running a hand through the dark curls, “I’ve wanked to this image so many times. You naked; lustful and wanton. My hands running through your curls. Our cocks touching. Wanting only each other. I’ve even shagged others thinking of this.” John blinks down at him, realising that probably wasn’t the best thing to say as he shakes his head of blonde hair and continues, “How do you want me to continue, love?”

 

“You choose.” Sherlock replies, a bit surprised with John asking. Expecting John to just take control, not expecting to be so…talkative. John grinds quickly into him, letting out a wheezed whimper as he does so, clearing trying very hard not to do what Sherlock wants: to take control, to do what he wishes with the brunette.

 

“It’s you’re first time. I took advantage before, I shouldn’t have.”

 

“No! That’s what I _want_ , John. I-I like it.” Sherlock groans, rubbing back into John. Needing the friction to cool the hot longing he’s experiencing. John looks down at him, using his hands to steady him on either side of Sherlock’s head, the blue in his eyes nearly unrecognisable from his pupil as he gasps down, “Finish what you started, _John_. Use _me_.”

 

John smirks down at him before leaning back onto his knees, looking down Sherlock’s body with his cornflower blue eyes. Sherlock knows the look in his eyes, the calculating look as he takes in every inch of the brunette’s body. Making him shiver in the sheet, clutching them tightly into his fists. The blonde bends down, nuzzling at Sherlock’s inner thigh before sucking down hard on the soft skin, nibbling at the sensitive spot. Throwing his back, he lets out a long, sensual moan. In the back of his mind, he knows that Mycroft – in the room opposite his – is bound to here that but he doesn’t care. Instead his right hand takes a fist-full of John’s surprisingly silky blonde hair and tries to push the rugby captain’s mouth closer to him.

 

Only succeeding in John’s teeth knocking against him.

 

Nonetheless, the feeling still sends shivers through him. Giggling, John unlatches from his thigh. Grinning up at him as his mouth comes into touching distance of his throbbing cock. Just John being that close to his crotch makes pre-cum bubble out of the slit of his cock before it drips down his length, pulsing eagerly.  “John, _please._ ” Sherlock lets out brokenly, the anticipation making him shake.

 

“Patience, love.” John whispers back, hovering over his friend’s cock.

 

It feels like hours before John finally makes contact with him. His hot tongue massaging the base of Sherlock’s cock and the crease of his balls. He stays away from the head of Sherlock’s cock, knowing that he’s far too sensitive. Sherlock is grateful for it, he doesn’t want it to end too quickly. The blonde places one of Sherlock’s balls into his mouth, his hand playing with the other. The sensation makes Sherlock’s cock bounce, banging into his stomach before standing straight. It would have made the younger boy abashed if he weren’t for John trying to fit both of his balls into his mouth.

 

His moan quickly covering his embarrassment.

 

“John, J-John I won’t...” Sherlock stares, looking down at the bobbing blonde hair between his thighs before fixing his eyes up at the ceiling with a faltered whimper. Even without anything or one touching his cock, John is still enough to get Sherlock off. He files it away into his mind palace to look over later and, hopefully, experiment with, “I-I won’t last.” He manages to finish, eyes up at the ceiling still. Even when John’s mouth moves away from him.

 

The blonde kisses the tip of Sherlock’s flushed cock before gripping his hips and flipping the taller boy over, making Sherlock squeal in surprise.  John’s broad hands are on his arse in an instant; gripping the two pale globes tightly in each hand and shaking them. Sherlock feels John’s piercing stare on them, obviously watching them move which, Sherlock wonders much be something John finds arousing.

 

He wants to ask him, to see if his bottom is something that will please John in the future, despite the ache scars marking each cheek a dark voice whispers in his head, “Bloody gorgeous, Sherlock. The amount of times I’ve watched you walk or crouch down, staring at your arse through those bloody _tight_ pants. Desperately wanting to grip onto it and claim it. To stick my tongue up your hole and spank you until it’s nice and red.” His arse cheeks spread out under John’s hands, forming a yelp in Sherlock’s throat as the cold air hits his puckered hole, “I hope you let me do that, my sweet boy. I won’t be able to help my-”

 

John’s tongue devours the tight muscle mid-sentence. Losing his patience, Sherlock deduces, burying his head into the sheets as John’s mouth sucks at the tense skin. The younger boy has the sudden disgusting thought that he might not have cleaned himself up properly after a trip to the toilet, and there John is licking it all clean. Add in the fact that his arse crack seems to be the only place (apart from the thin hairs on his legs and around his penis) that thick hair grows on his body. He feels slightly queasy at the thought, despite the sharp arousal making his brain go all fuzzy and his erection twitch painfully against the covers of his bed, giving him the much needed friction.

 

“Oh, _John._ ” Sherlock moans, his sudden thoughts forgotten about at John’s tongue starts to invade his hole and loosen the muscle. Sherlock relaxing boneless on the covers, rubbing his hips against the now wet covers in tiny circles. John grunts into his arse, digging deeper into the crack of arse. Animalistic noises come from John’s buried face and Sherlock wishes that can watch as John ravishes his arse. Every lick and nudge with his tongue driving Sherlock _insane_.

 

By the time Sherlock’s ring of muscle is relaxed and widened ready for John, he’s been reduced to a pile of goo. Never in his entire life did he think something would feel so _good_. He grins lazily into the sheets, eager to find out if the feeling of being fucked is just as good or _better_.  

 

His back automatically arches when one of John’s fingers tease his hole. Surprise flooding him before the same disgust filters through, horrified that – yet again – John might rub his finger into something that would ruin the mood completely. However, when John’s finger eases into him, opening him wider whilst his other hand slowly caresses his cock; it’s utter bliss.

 

The noises the brunette makes doesn’t even register in his mind. He doesn’t care about anything else, apart from John rubbing _that spot_ inside of him. _Prostate_ his mind calls to him, adding in data to his already rapidly filling room. He makes a quick note about changing his John room to a whole wing before his thoughts are – yet again – suppressed. John adds in a second finger, making him feel wider and more vulnerable than he’s ever felt in his entire life.

 

It almost hurts. As if his body is telling him that it isn’t right, that he can’t do this. It burns as John kisses his sensitive stomach, muttering soothing words in his ear. “ _John_.” Sherlock whimpers painfully, withdrawing from the intrusion. 

 

“Shit.” John mutters pulling away from Sherlock, “Lube.” John states, as if forgetting. Sherlock’s gut turns uncomfortable for a second when he remembers that John is used to being with women, so he’s probably treating Sherlock like he would with a past girlfriend. Again, he pushes the thoughts away, not wanting to analysis anything.

 

“Top draw.” Sherlock whispers out, slowly stroking his hard-on as he vaguely remembers Mummy telling him the other day that there’s Baby Oil. He wasn’t sure if it’s alright to use, but to be honest he doesn’t really care and neither does John as he grabs the bottle, covering his left hand with the oil and plunging the two fingers back into the puckered hole.

 

This time it doesn’t hurt.

 

John’s fingers slip in with ease, stroking his prostate lightly before going deeper. Scissoring his fingers, stretching the younger boy’s hole wider than it’s ever been for. Sherlock weeps into the covers, clutching them desperately and pushing down on the fingers. Urgently yearning for more. He thirsts for more fingers up him, longing for John’s length to bring him to the climax he desperately pines for.

 

“More, John. I want more.” Sherlock chokes.

 

“Shush, love. Be patient with me.”

 

Huffing, Sherlock continues to move his hips, fucking himself on John’s fingers. This time using _John_ as _his personal sex-toy_. The thought sends a delicious quiver through him. After several moments of John continuing to scissor him, his fingers withdraw from Sherlock’s heat. A whine leaks through Sherlock’s lips when he turns to lie on his back, forming a laugh from John as he moves closer to Sherlock so he’s nearly on top of him.

 

The head of John’s cock rests against Sherlock’s dilated opening. _So close but so far away_ , Sherlock hisses to himself, trying to wiggle his hips so John’s cock goes in further. John chuckles against Sherlock’s lips, knowing all too well that he’s driving Sherlock _insane w_ ith his slow, teasing pace. “Oh my sweet desperate Sherlock.” John murmurs against his neck, slowly licking over the love-bite that Sherlock can feel bloom, “I want this to stay with you. Me teasing you, making you beg for it. I want you to feel – _suffer_ – the affects long after we’ve finished. I’ll be _severely_ disappointed if it isn’t on the top of your wank list for months to come.” John exhales against the sensitive spot near his ear.

 

“Yes! _Always!_ ”

 

John leans back, eyeing up Sherlock before gripping his thighs and shuffling so he’s in-line with Sherlock. His cock taunting the rim of his opening, “Bollocks!” John shouts suddenly, looking down at his hands before looking up at the bewildered brunette, “Condoms! Oil!”

 

Sherlock’s even more puzzled for a moment before his mind catches up with what the blonde is saying. He curses his mind for being so slow. Of course the oil John used before would break the condom, Sherlock didn’t even think about it. _Stupid!_ Sherlock huffs, throwing his head back onto the bed, sulkily staring up at the ceiling and ignoring the throb of his dick.

 

An idea comes to him.

 

An idea so brilliantly fabulous that it’s the best idea Sherlock has ever had!

 

“I’m clean!” Sherlock grins at John, jumping up so his elbows are holding his top half up. Looking very much like an eager puppy. The blonde stares back at him confused, causing Sherlock to frown back at him. Frustrated that John wasn’t getting him, that he isn’t sharing the same delight that Sherlock is, “Oh for god’s sake, John! We don’t need one!”

 

John just stares at him for several moment, pre-cum dripping heavily onto Sherlock’s prepped arse. The younger boy is about to lose his patience and just take matters into his own hands, just flip the shorter boy over and sink down on that delicious, gratifying cock.

 

“I might not be clean.” John says slowly, after far too long.

 

“You are. _I_ would know otherwise, John.” Sherlock cockily replied, expecting John’s raised eye in return, “What’s that look for? I wouldn’t have swallowed your…semen otherwise! Or even gone near you if I thought for even a second that you had an STI. You're a clean person, John. You've used a condom with everyone else. ”

 

“Fine!” John growls, moving yet again so he can reach the Baby Oil, “And we’re getting proper lube after this, I don’t even know if this is safe to be inside of you!”

 

“I. Don’t. Care.” Sherlock snarls.

 

“But you will when you get some infection or it feels weird later on or it doesn’t wash away easily and I’ve got to be the one listening to you whine on!”

 

Coating his cock and Sherlock’s arse with the leaking oil, Sherlock ignores John’s blabbering. Not the least bit interested in what he’s saying, only concentrating on the slow entrance of the rugby captain’s penis as it breaches past the ring of muscle. The smooth burn from before is back but this time sweet, somewhat pleasant as they oil helps John slide into place in one graceful pull of his hips.

 

“Sweet fuck, Sherlock.” John barks, one hand on either of Sherlock’s slender thighs, looking down at where he’s inside of him, “You’re so fucking tight. A little virgin you really are.” John smirks up at him, moving his hands off him and placing them on either side of Sherlock’s slim shoulders, “I can’t wait to get this arse of yours all used.” His teeth nip on one of his very swollen, very sore nipples. Biting gently on one of them, lapis lazuli eyes not leaving Sherlock’s heavy ones.

 

John starts moving, licking up the brunette’s chest and neck before stopping at his bottom lip. Eyes fixed. A smirk playing at his swollen lips. Nipples hard. Balls slapping softly against his arse. Cock pulsing inside of him. Hair dishevelled. Sherlock can do nothing but stare at this perfect man, mouth shaped in a small ‘oh’. Everything but John leaving his mind.

John’s lips finally, _finally_ land back on Sherlock’s. Needy and rough as his hips never stop moving deeply in and out of him. John’s strokes are long, slow and deep, rubbing against his prostate when he pulls out. Sherlock hooks his long legs around the tanned boy’s narrow hips, changing the position so his prostate’s stimulated with every movement of John’s hips.

 

“Look at you.” John murmurs, making his stroke shallow. A hand runs over Sherlock’s sharp cheekbone, “I have never seen anything more beautiful, more gorgeous than you.”

 

The brunette blushes, throwing his back in pure bliss when John rams his cock deeper into him. _Becoming more desperate_ , Sherlock deduces, _wanting to see me come, losing control_. A giggle makes its way up his throat, coming out as a long sensual moan when John’s left hand fists into his hair, revealing his pale neck for the blonde to violate. The heel of Sherlock’s foot rubs against John’s bum cheek, his hands too busy memorising the feel of John’s hair and the bare muscle of his broad shoulders to lurk towards his behind.

 

John’s slow pace is beginning to frustrate the youngest Holmes. He wants John to go rough and quick, but Sherlock knows that John is stubborn. That he’ll continue what he’s doing despite Sherlock begging him, just to watch Sherlock fall apart in front of him. To torment Sherlock in a different way than what he longs for. There’s no doubt that he’ll love what John has in mind, but (for today) he needs John to be rough with him. He’s waited too long for this to be teased.

 

Sherlock’s long fingers grip John’s waist, feeling the thick muscle underneath and his feet move to plant themselves onto the bed. When John moves out of him, ready to plant himself back into Sherlock roughly; Sherlock flips them over.

 

Looking down at the surprised blonde, Sherlock grins cockily down at him. He kisses his nose before moving onto his knees to straddle John, his very hard cock rubbing in between Sherlock’s cheeks. John gasps, looking up at his friend with a look of wonder, mischief and utter desire. The dominate side Sherlock can see playing in John’s eyes, the twist of a smirk on his lips is all the evidence Sherlock needs to know that he’s going to get punished; whether today or another time, Sherlock doesn’t know.

 

“You naughty boy. You better get back on my cock before I decide to throw you over my lap and spank you until you take my cock how I want you to take it.” Sherlock moans in response, lifting up slightly so John’s head pops back into his hole. Filling him just as he likes it. John reaches for the lube before Sherlock reaches all the way down, drizzling some on the base of his cock before throwing it on the floor and letting Sherlock sink all the way down.

 

The brunette ignores John’s hands that steady him, keep him at a reasonable pace. The genius rocks his hips backwards and forwards, relishing the feel of John’s length slowly widening his passage even more and hitting his walls sharply. John’s hands run up his back, following the curve of his spine up and down. Sherlock bends his back further, as if present his arse to someone behind him, placing his hands on either side of John’s waist and raising himself up on John’s length.

 

He does it slowly a few times, testing himself to make sure his hands and knees are planted in the right position and that it’s just as pleasurable for John than it is for him before speeding up. John’s legs move so his feet are planted into the bed, sitting Sherlock higher and giving him more high to bounce on his cock.

 

 _John_ his mind mutters to him as he looks down at his hooded eyed blonde. His sapphire eyes are always on Sherlock, watching his every move and helping him. His blonde hair is starting to stick together with sweat as Sherlock goes even faster, adding a twist to his hips as he reaches the base of John’s cock, even clenching his walls a bit to add to John’s pleasure. “Oh my dear god.” John chokes when he does do it, Sherlock watching him bite his lip. Knowing that John’s feeling the burning climax building up in his abdomen.

John’s hands travel to Sherlock’s arse. Exploring his cheeks, and helping his lover rock against him before raising up and lowering himself down again. His hands grips the loose skin tightly, making Sherlock hiss and his cock to twitch in response. As John’s hands move below his arse, helping the tiring brunette continuing his passionate speed; Sherlock’s cock slaps gently against his own stomach, demanding attention as pre-cum dribbles onto John’s firm abdomen.

 

“I won’t last much longer, love. So fucking tight. So fucking perfect for me.” John huffs, moving his hips in time with Sherlock, getting his cock deeper with each thrust. Sherlock smiles confidently down at John. Overly pleased and surprised by the fact that _he_ has reduced the popular John Watson to a fumbling, bumbling mess of blonde goo.

 

“Come in me, John.” Sherlock replies, voice deeper and huskier than ever before. Sitting straight he bounces harder, ignoring that fact that his cock is now hitting both of their stomachs due to the harsh movement, “I want to feel you _cum_ in me. I want it to drip out of my hole, making a mess on the sheets. I want you to mark me with your seed, _breed_ me.” Sherlock gasps into the air, throwing his head back as John’s warm hand coats his cock, urging him to come.

 

“Oh fuck, my sweet-”

 

Sherlock reaches behind him, taking John’s hands that’s still exploring his arse and forces it onto the sheet beside them, the other one rubbing him off furiously. “I’m going to…” Sherlock stutters, feeling his balls tighten.

 

“Yes! Come for me, Sherlock. Come on my stomach, darling.” John grins, gripping Sherlock’s hand.

Sherlock comes.

 

His hand tightening around John’s as he finishes. His head buried in the crook of John’s neck. John’s name coming out of his lips loudly, almost shouting. His hips still taking John’s cock deeply as his cock goes sensitive in John’s warm hand. He shivers and flinches as John continues to rub his softening cock as he thrusts in Sherlock’s clenching arse.

 

“ _Sherlock.”_ John moans breathlessly as he comes. His hand that was rubbing Sherlock off comes up to his face, bringing the younger boys face down to his to devour him in a kiss, silencing his heavy climax. Sherlock arse milks John’s cock, taking every last bit of his semen before Sherlock sits straight and moves to straddle further down John’s body. John’s cock leaves him with a soft ‘pop’ before the warm liquid gushes out of him, landing on the fresh sheets and on John’s hairy upper thigh.

 

“Sorry.” Sherlock mutter shyly, now straddling John’s knees and trying to keep his eyes off John’s penis.

 

John laughs, gripping Sherlock’s upper arms and pulling him back down so he can kiss him. The brunette hovers over the blonde, unsure what to do or how to react. Not sure if going to get a towel would be rude or not. John’s kiss relaxes him. If it was even possible after such a fierce climax Sherlock would say that his cock was getting hard agai-

 

“Sherlock? Dinner’s ready.” Mycroft calls through the door. John freezes underneath him, gripping Sherlock’s arms that are holding him up above John painfully. Sherlock pulls away from John’s lips, staring back down at his lover with wide eyes, knowing that in their rush neither of them had locked the door, “Sherlock, are you alright?” He continues when no reply comes.  

 

Sherlock doesn’t reply, only lets out a small squeak. John smacks a hand on his mouth, stifling his chuckle. Sherlock smiles down at him, bring one of his hands to caress John’s cheek; wanting to kiss him again. Mycroft and dinner can wait.

 

“Sherlock? John?” Mycroft continues, opening the door and pausing in disbelief.

 

“Oh god.” John blushes, throwing an arm over his eyes as Sherlock quickly throws the ruined sheets (that he’s sure Mummy will go berserk over) over their privates; which Sherlock notices are touching. Sherlock can see through the curtain of his hair that Mycroft eyes are taking in their appearance and the spilt Baby Oil on the bedroom floor, adding it to the noises he must have heard, joining the dots.

 

“Oh.” Mycroft breathes.

 

Sherlock would have laughed until next December at Mycroft’s face if it was under another circumstance.

 

“Bugger off, Mycroft!” Sherlock barks, sitting up straight and glaring at him, John’s face still hidden.

 

“Dinner.” Mycroft states, his mask of indifference back on before leaving, slamming the door close.

 

Sherlock rolls onto his back next to the still hiding John, glaring up at the ceiling and cursing his brother with every name under the sun. “I’ll never be able to look him in the eyes again!” John’s muffled voice speaks, Sherlock can just make out the faint echo of Mycroft telling Mummy before he turns his attention back to John.   

 

“Oh shush. Don’t be such a drama queen.” Sherlock replies, turning his head to smile at the blonde.

 

“Don’t tell me to shush, Sherlock Holmes, your brother just saw me as nude as the day I was born!” John gasps playfully, moving to straddle the youngest Holmes. Lips impishly messing with Sherlock’s. Sherlock runs his fingers through the blonde’s hair and skimming over the edge of his ear, trying to get John to forget the recent intrusion.

 

“You’re getting hard again.” Sherlock points out, pulling away to rest their foreheads against each other.

 

“Obviously.” John answers with an eye roll, “How can I not? I have a mad and beautiful genius lying under me.”

 

“You’re insufferable.”

 

“Says the mad beautiful genius who’s getting hard over the fact that I’m hard.”

 

“The baby oil's spilled all over the floor.” Sherlock points out, tipping his head towards the new stain on the carpet, and the empty bottle of oil.

 

“Bollocks.” John pouts, “Guess you’ll have to cuddle me then.” Sherlock rolls his eyes at the cheeky grin on John’s face before pushing the blonde’s head into the crook of his neck, his fingers playing with Sherlock’s curls. Sherlock wraps his arms around his lover in return, fingertips skimming over the dip of John’s spin. Limbs everywhere and John’s sticky-out rib poking into him.  

 

He doesn’t care though.

 

After all, John’s wrapped around him.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's it, love! 
> 
> If people are interested and want to read more, I could extent this to a series to show the boy's relationship after this. If you're interested, please tell me and I'll get to work on it straight away. Also if you'll like the GIFs and pictures to continue. 
> 
> Thank you so much for reading this!
> 
> [My Tumblr](http://ziggyplayed-guitar.tumblr.com/)

**Author's Note:**

> My Tumblr can be found [here](http://ziggyplayed-guitar.tumblr.com/)


End file.
